Ficathon: On Returning to Atlanta
by Merovia
Summary: Well, this is my entry to the first GWTW Ficathon. Thanks to CaptScarlett who came up with the idea and who incidentally also where the one I had to write for. Hope you enjoy.


A grey sky hung low over the city, effectively shielding out the daylight, toning down the colours of everything into a level of bland dullness. The clouds hunted wildly across the sky, a swirling mass of a slightly lighter grey against the dark sky. On the ground the wind chased and hurled the leaves from the now naked trees along the streets at a break neck speed, encouraging them to keep up with the clouds above.

It was a cold day.

Cold, at least compared to what the residents of Atlanta, Georgia would normally expect at this time of the year. People from more northern climates, would have shrugged their shoulder, laughed and continued their live without a raised eyebrow, and been thankful that it was only the wind that plagued them. But the people of the south were used to long warm summer, and winter, when it came, would only be brief – but this year it was different. So the people of Atlanta dusted of their winter coats and stayed out of the wind as much as possible.

It was still only November and the temperature had unexpected and suddenly dropped to just below the freezing point. The shift in temperature had been accompanied by a strong wind that roared insistently from morning to evening. Meaning that on this day only a few people voluntarily ventured out into the streets, while the rest sat wrapped up in their homes, blazing fires in their stoves. Of course it was Sunday which made it a lot easier to find an excuse to stay inside.

Huddled figures clad in heavy cloaks, with shawls fastened around their faces to protect themselves against the biting wind, scuttled along the streets, not really paying any attention to their surroundings, only focusing on getting their errands completed or their jobs done, so they could also return to the warm comfort of their homes. Those poor few, that had no home to return to, had found shelter as best they could.

On the porch of one of the grand houses towering over the deserted street two elderly women stood engrossed in what seemed to be a very interesting conversation. They stood protected from the wind, with a good view over the passers-by in the street. Two grey heads bent together in eager conversation. They had just come back from church and enjoyed this chance to talk undisturbed and had therefore chosen the outdoors compared to the comfort of their living rooms. Though their main focus was on the conversation their keen eyes darted up and down the street at every indication of life. They saw everything, and missed nothing about the going-ons in the city of Atlanta.

They were Mrs Elsing and Mrs Merryweather, two of the most prominent matrons of Atlanta society. Acceptance from those two, meant acceptance from society. Naturally that also went the other way around. If you put a toe out of line those two were sure to put judgement on you. Only those who were either very brave, or very stupid, stood up to them, as it was sure to mean a rapid slide down the iceberg that constituted the platform for prominent society.

"Have you heard it?" Miss Elsing's voice cut trough the wind.

"Heard what dear friend?" Mrs Merrywheather responded with a huff.

"The house is being reopened"

"The house – which house" a look of recognition came on Mrs Merrywheather's face

"Oh, you man THAT house"

"Yes my dear, THAT house" Mrs Elsing responded, a condescending look on her face.

"Are they coming back?" a look of intense curiosity on her face, not knowing whether she wished for the return of the scandalous couple and the wave of topics for idle chit chat that they were sure to bring, or whether it would be too much of a disadvantage to have them causing a stir in their pond. None of them would ever admit it, but gossip was what they thrived on, and the topics for wagging tongues, had been slimmed down considerably after the hasty departure of the town's most infamous couple.

"I don't know if THEY will come back" said Mrs Elsing – pausing for added impact, as she was sure the next bit of information would be eagerly received by her friend.

"But I have heard that HE will return, and I know from a reliable source that he have asked for Mrs Simanon, the dressmaker, to stitch up some ladies garment – which means he is unlikely to plan for a solo stay"

Mrs Merrywheathers mouth formed a large shapely O, her eyes popping.

"He wouldn't…" Her tone was highly disapproving but her eyes had an eager sparkle to them, telling the tale that some part of her would find great pleasure in such a chance for interesting discussions.

"I am not saying he would, but I know for sure that she is away visiting somewhere up north, and therefore it is not likely to be for her…."

"Also you know" Mrs Elsing added on second thought

"If it was for her, why not go to the dressmaker who has fashioned everything else in that lady's wardrobe. Mark my words – there is something fishy about it…."

A tall figure hurrying down the street momentarily distracted the two ladies from their most interesting conversation, stopping Mrs Elsing mid sentence.

Their eyes followed him curiously. Who was he?

It didn't look like anybody from their circle of friends, but he was dressed like a gentleman – and a wealthy one none the less. If he was not a Yankee – he might provide an excellent addition to their circle of friends. Healthy men were scarce after the war. Those of good breeding and money even more so, and therefore they were welcomed warmly.

The tall stranger didn't look bothered by the wind, on the contrary there was a light spring to his steps as though he was walking home leisurely on a warm summers day after he had just received some great news.

The only sign that he was affected by the weather and that it was not in fact a bright warm day in the middle of the summer was his thick coat which was closed tightly to keep out the icy wind. The collar was folded up around his ears, and his hat pulled down tightly over his head. Serving the double effect of protecting him from the cold in addition to obscuring his features to the onlookers on the porch.

He walked rapidly down the street, long ground covering strides, and turned around a corner a bit further along the street, disappearing from the view of the two ladies. For a moment their eyes were fixated at the spot where he had disappeared, there had been something eerily familiar about the stranger. Not able to divine anything about the gentleman's identity from the thin air, they once again dived into the very interesting conversation.

-----""""""-----

Had they been able to continue watching the strangers further progression through town, they would have seen him finally turning from the street at a large house.

He opened the gate and walked up the driveway, hands in his pockets.

He stopped at the large oaken front door, lifted his hand to use the doorknocker but decided against it. He opened his coat and slowly withdrew a large key from one of the inside pockets. He lifted the key and studied it hesitantly weighing it in his hand, before with a smooth movement inserting it into the matching keyhole. At first the key didn't budge as he went to turn it, as if time had blurred the image of the key it needed to unlock. He pressed again, this time with a little more effort - the lock yielded and the key turned with a click. He opened the heavy door that screeched a bit as the hinges turned, it seemed like the simple opening and closing was an entirely unfamiliar task for the door.

With one large step he entered and the door clicked shut.

He breathed in the air of the entrance hall, the air in there tasted stale in comparison to the crisp freshness of where he had just entered from and he made a mental note to ask the servants to put a little more effort into the venting task.

The hall was gloomy as it was only dimly lit by a few candles; he had obviously come home faster than had been expected.

He removed his hat and revealing a mass of thick dark, almost black hair – only a few stints of grey here and there. As if on cue slow padding footsteps could be heard approaching across the thick carpets in the hallway. An old servant entered the hall and took his hat.

"Mr Rhett, we didn't hear you use the doorbell, or we would have been here to greet you!" he said apologetically.

The man that was Rhett Butler smiled at the old servant who had been in the family's service for several decades.

"Never mind that Pork, I used the key – apparently it still worked - I guess that is a good sign" he said with a chuckle.

He removed his coat to reveal his long fit form, and handed it over to Pork who accepted it graciously.

"You never know around here" he added with a slight smirk.

Pork shook his head, choosing not to understand his master reference to the stormy past of the house and its inhabitants. He had always prided himself on not listening to idle gossip nor indulging himself with eavesdropping. Though curiously enough, he had always been remarkably well informed when information was required to be delivered.

"It sure is good to see you again Mr Rhett" The old servants lips shaped themselves into a slow smile that clearly showed the heavy lines that had edged themselves into his face – he hoped that their days of keeping vigil over an uninhabited house would now be over.

He wanted to ask if the mistress would be along as well, but thought better of it. Though he would be happy to welcome the daughter of his former master back to the house – it wasn't any of his business.

He directed Rhett to the library where a blazing fire was burning – the master had arrived earlier than they had anticipated, but luckily he had had enough good sense too have a fire lightened to preheat the room for the pending arrival.

With a bow he left the room.

Rhett's eyes moved over the polished surfaces of the wall panels, moving on to the ceiling high book cases that were filled with mostly unread copies and the odd piece of knick knack that he had brought home from one of his many travels. The two armchairs that stood close to the fire were deep and comfortable; they looked almost unused, not many hours had been spent by anyone snuggled up with a good book. He took in all the remaining details of the room, how familiar it was – almost everything was as he remembered, a few of the photos on the shelf above the fireplace had been moved around – probably by a thorough house maid.

How strange to be home at last.

Home….

He tasted the word, had this place really ever been a home to him? Well, he hoped that that was about to change. He was here, that was a start wasn't it?

For a moment his thoughts flashed back to his last night in the house. How unhappy he had been. Back then and for the longest time after he had thought he would never return, but well – sometimes life took some surprising turns. He shrugged not wanting to dive to far into the memories of his past. He felt at ease with himself at this moment and did not want to drag himself down by remembering everything that had passed in this house too clearly.

He smiled softly, and went to get himself a drink, and sat down into one of the chairs. After removing his damp boots he stretched his legs, and leisurely placed his feet on the designated footrest, letting the warmth from the fire float over his body.

"Home, I am home" He spoke the words out aloud, though no one were around to hear them, but it felt good to finally say it. It made it seem more real – as he still found it quite unbelievable that he had ventured back here to this place where he had sworn not to set foot again.

Pork entered again bringing a small tray of food, bits and pieces especially chosen to please the returning master's palate. After the slip with the other preparations for reopening the house, he wanted to show Mr Rhett, that the catering in the house was still top class.

Rhett slowly chewed the delicious pieces of meat that were offered to him, feeling a comfortable relaxedness soak through him. He leant back in the chair letting the thoughts he had kept a bay earlier flood over him.

He had spent the last couple of years being on a constant journey. God only knew how long he had been away, it could be one, two or even three years, who was counting – he certainly hadn't been keeping track! He had travelled the world, not giving a damn about anyone or anything – pretending to be numb. He could now admit to himself that he had been on the run, running away from himself and from all the rest of the sorry mess that had been his life. Fuelled by anger, pain, fear and frustration as he had been – even now he could taste the salty bitterness he had felt back then. He had never allowed himself to settle during this time, always only staying in one place for a week or two at the most. He had seen all the places that others only dreamed and spun tales about, places of great beauty, places the reverberated with the role they had played over the course of history, places that stood as monuments over mans fantastic ventures and their defeats – though most of the time he had been to blinded by his own misery to really take it in. Women – there had been lots of woman too – long limb bodies that gave him pleasure in the night but meant nothing to him when he awoke in the morning. Gambling for huge sums – sometimes losing, sometimes winning, not that it had mattered to him.

That had been his life, and he had been quite satisfied to continue living like that for the remains of his days, indulging himself in the easy pleasures of life. He could enjoy that while being detached, not daring to bare his heart again, only half aware that that was what he was doing. Though sometimes during the nights he had woken up a lingering name on his lips almost paralysed by the fear that he would never heal, that he would never feel as he had once felt, never be able to live and enjoy but forever to be condemned to this half life that he was currently living. But the thoughts of his woken nightmares always seemed to have evaporated when the first rays of daylight tickled him until he woke up – ready for another day.

One morning however he had woken up to an altogether different feeling. He had slept later than he normally had, almost past midday. Feeling more refreshed than he remembered having felt for the longest time. He had for some reason stopped being mad at himself and at her. He had unconsciously found a way to forgive himself for the way his life had turned out. Not understanding how or why – but thankful that at least he saw some glimmer of hope for a better future. A richer and fuller life than what he currently indulged in. The scorch marks on his heart, left by hurt and bitter losses were still there, but the pain had dulled and he had been able to feel again.

He remembered that he had gone out of bed, and had flung open the windows and had hungrily breathed in the crisp mountain air. He had been in the alps in some cosy country lodge – but had not really taken in the beauty of the surrounding, but now he saw it all. It seemed to him that all the colours of the world that missed for innumerable days, had been let out of the box and now seeped into every little detail of his field of vision. He had felt like running, like dancing, like singing – everything that would prove to him that he was alive. He had naturally chosen the easy option and bedded the next almost tolerable girl he had met on his way, which unfortunately hadn't brought with it the pleasure he had anticipated.

Which boggled him for a second until understanding hit him with an overwhelming clarity.

He was still in love, and only one woman would be able to keep him feeling this alive.

To his surprise he found that the love he had claimed to been burned out was still there, it had somehow survived in a small sheltered corner of his heart. Now that it found that it was no longer unwanted and in any danger of being extinguished if it showed itself to brightly, it started to grow stronger again.

The recognition of this love filled him with renewed thirst for truer things in life. Things that would really matter to him – things that would make him feel, perhaps make him cry and scream out in frustration. But he realised, hit by a sudden flood of wisdom that that was part of being alive. He decided then and there that he was done being scared, for what could be worse than living the half existence he had pretended to enjoy until recently.

He realised that what he needed above all else, was the woman he had left behind, if she would still have him. His heart had for a moment twisted in fear – fear of being rejected. But after all she had claimed that she loved him back then when he had finally given up on them. He had not wanted to listen and had thus left with a resounding slam of the door. Now he found that he would do anything to get her back. He decided that he needed to see if she still had any love for him – if not he would have to woe her anew. His dear wife had earlier in their life proved that she was good at clinging on to an unrequited love, he only hope that she hadn't learned to much from her past mistakes. Or had not changed her mind about her professed love and instead gone back to her former beloved.

No matter what it was time, time to come home.

He had gone to Charleston, to his mother's house first, feeling the need to plead her forgiveness as well. He had spent a few weeks or months there when he had first left Atlanta, but too much there had reminded him of all that he had lost, so he had left… left without saying goodbye.

Apart from the parental forgiveness he had found something a lot more surprising, the thought of it still gave him joy. He had found letters, letters addressed to him, letters that she had written to him. Some were short, others were long. Some were letters where she barred her soul; others contained small details and anecdotes from the life she lived. A life, where she had found a way to live without him; though, she, surprisingly, did not hide the fact that she missed him dearly.

When his mother had first revealed the stack of letters to him he had looked at her in disbelief. The only other thing he ever remembered his wife writing had been a credit nota, or endless rows of neat numbers in her ledgers. He had therefore opened the letters with shaking hands in anticipation on what kind of message she had felt compelled to put into writing. He didn't exactly know what he had expected, but certainly not what he had found. He had taken in every word she had penned down, and enjoyed this surprising view into her cunning mind. He never would have expected for her to use writing as an outlet for her sadness and worry, she had to say the least never been bookish or particularly keen on any kind of soul searching. Apparently she had needed an outlet for the feelings she had experienced, having found no one to confide in, in her limited circle of friends and family she had chosen him, though she had only half expected him to ever read this. For that he felt immensely grateful. It has been interesting to read how she had evolved over the years of their separation, it intimidated him yet made him curious. He was in love with an image of her that he had honed in his mind, as were she with an image of him if the words in her letters spoke the truth. He had wondered many times if the reality of life could measure up, but every time he had come to the conclusion that it at least deserved to be tested.

Those letters were the reason he had spent so long in Charleston. He felt that he owed her an explanation, an excuse, a reason for his past behaviour, and for his return. Certain that his courage would fail him if he were to explain himself to her face he had chosen to pick up her form of communication and write her a letter. He had mulled over every word, crossing out, adding others, starting over multiple times, creating one crumpled paper ball after the other, before he had been satisfied with the result. With a heart that beat noticeably faster than normally he had posted the letter. Standing at the mailbox, fingers tightly closed around the edge of the thick cream envelope that bore her name in bold slanting letters before finally letting go. His heart had almost skipped a beat when the envelope had hit the bottom of the mailbox with a heavy thud. She had not spoken of her whereabouts in any of her letter, so he did not have any immediate chance to find her. Instead he had sent the letter to her via Henry Hamilton who still served as a Lawyer in Atlanta – he hoped that he would be able to send the letter on to its intended recipient.

He had asked her to come here to Atlanta to what had once been their common home. He had at first considered taking her to New Orleans, hoping to sway her with their honeymoon settings as she would probably need some convincing of his sincerity. No matter how much she was in love with him Scarlett was not one to forgive and forget easily. However after giving it some more thought and considering it a little bit more carefully, he realised that perhaps the memories she harboured from their time there was not as happy as those he had carefully stored in his mind. After all he had been the only one in love on their honeymoon. No they needed something else, and sad as they had been, this house and this city still held the memories from their shared past – and here he was.

His hand dug into a pocket in his trousers and withdrew a crumbled peace of paper. Needing reassurance that he had not come here on some wild goose chase.

His eyes flew over the words for the umpteenth time.

Coming to Atlanta – stop – will arrive on the 20th – stop – 10.30 train

No name, no nothing, but I had to be her – he knew it.

He smiled. He had received the telegram only yesterday morning and he had been borne right to the front steps on this house by the wave of happiness they had created within him.

Tomorrow he would know for certain.

-----""""""-----

The wind had not relented during the night, but the clouds had been chased away and the morning light was soft and blue. The station building was showered in the syrupy golden light of the sun. The breath of waiting horses created small wisps of mist as they exhaled – chewing a snippet of hay, momentarily relaxed, anticipating, along with their drivers, the pending arrival of a train that would load their wagons with goods.. The people at the train station looked less desolate, though still bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, than the few people he had encountered on his brisk walk through the town yesterday. Today it was a working day and the bustling activity kept them warm.

10.37 He looked at his watch, the train was late God damn it – he looked around impatiently, but nobody else seemed to have noticed. Probably it would have caused more of an uproar if the train had actually been on time. Normally he wouldn't have cared, but today he felt a nervous anticipation running through his veins. It had been so long since he had seen her – he had waited for her 10 years or more and now he would hopefully be able to call her his – could anyone blame him for being impatient?

He looked at his watch again, the arms had barely moved. Annoyed he showed it back into a small pocket in his vest.

He was about to send one of the luggage boys, that hung around waiting for a small earning by helping passengers getting their bags of the train, off to get some cigars when a loud tuuut tuuut was heard clearly over the humdrum noises of the station. All stopped their work and made ready for the arrival of the train.

It huffed its arrival in a cloud of white billowing smoke, the steam engine letting out a great wheeze as it came to a halt. The station attendants moved to quickly open the small doors to the first class cabins, the people on the lower classes would receive no such service. The doors clacked open and bonneted heads started popping out of the doors, some where accompanied by a gentleman while others travelled in the company of only their lady servant as a chaperone.

Rhett's eyes scanned the emerging crowd looking for the familiar shape that he was sure to recognise instantaneously, but none stood out.

He pulled out the telegram once more examined the date and the time, there was no doubt about it, this was the train that it referred to.

He had considered playing it casual, leaning on one of the pillars supporting the extended roof of the station building. In the end he had decided against it. For once she deserved for him to show his true colours. Instead he started walking slowly down along the first class carriage, making sure that all the compartments he passed by had indeed been left by their occupants. When he was half way past the first wagon he stopped abruptly, a female figure was alighting from a compartment only a few doors further down – he felt a surging sensation ripple through him in recognition, it was her.

A slight female figure against the large train. He couldn't see her face as from side view a fancy hat shaded the upper part of her face, and the heavy fur on her coat collar obscured the lover half from view. He felt like laughing, no matter how much she would or wouldn't have changed in other ways, at least she still had a distinct taste for slightly over decorated finery.

She elegantly gathered her heavy skirt and alighted on to the platform, speaking in curt words to her maid behind ordering her to ensure that the bags where gathered and sent to their right destination. He felt a slight twinge of disappointment, obviously she had not brought her children – he feared it could be a sign that she didn't plan to stay. Well, he had to change her mind.

Seeing her stand there showered in the golden rays of the autumn sun he couldn't fathom how he could have believed himself to have ever stopped loving her.

As if she could feel his burning intense gaze upon her back, she slowly turned. Her face was again momentarily hid by the shade cast by the station marquees that extended from the wall of the station building.

She hesitantly moved a step forward and their eyes met, a slow smile started to spread on her face, she looked so beautiful and still so young. But of course she was young, she would be somewhere around thirty he guessed. He always forgot that she was that much younger than him. Again he felt a twinge of guilt about what he had subjected her to, he should have been older and wiser – guiding her and helping her – in that respect he had utterly failed. He pushed the thought away, right now he just wanted to enjoy this moment. Making sure that he did not break their eye contact he started to move towards her, slow but firm steps. Stopping about half a meter from where she stood, not wanting to cross too far into her personal space uninvited.

They stood there for one long breathless moment, each being showered in the love that poured from the others eyes. He lifted his arm and traced a finger down her cheek bone.

"What took you so long" She whispered the question almost inaudibly.

"I am sorry, can you ever forgive me" his words where hushed and his voice thick with emotions.

Without another words she flung herself in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. Forgetting all thoughts of propriety his lips sought hers, hungrily, demanding, greedily claiming a down payment for what he had missed for the past years. Mouth against mouth, cold lips, tasting the sweet warmness of her mouth – electric currents shot through him as his tongue made contact with hers. No words were necessary as they melted together finally united in loving and being loved.

A little breathlessly they pulled apart, cheeks flushing and eyes twinkling with a happy glow.

"My, My Mrs butler, does that mean that you have missed me?"

She gave him a deep smile that she couldn't have held back even if she had wanted.

"Don't be to self assured Mr Butler, I just needed to be kissed, any man would have done – you were just lucky that you happened to be the first one I met"

He laughed, a deep throaty laugh, which she hadn't heard in a long time.

"Is that so Mrs Butler…" he paused, his eyes roaming over her body in a manner that made her blush.

"I better prove to you that you can make do with the kisses I bestow on you – and believe me they will be plenty"

His lips were on hers again, pulling her even closer than before, wanting to feel her body's warmness – and thus they stood entwined in a cocoon of their own making not noticing the disapproving look on the face of an elderly lady that came up to the platform her daughter on tow. It was Mrs Elsing. Her mouth a thin line, eyes squinting unbelievingly at the sight in front of her. The incorrigible Mr Butler and a woman. Still convinced by the truth of the recent tidings she had had about Scarlett's whereabouts she didn't pause to examine the lady friend that Rhett was flaunting his affection for to the world. Two thoughts flashed through her mind one surprisingly was "poor Scarlett – for all her faults she definitely did not deserve this public humiliation" and secondly "Did not he have any decency in his life. One thing would be to openly kiss ones spouse in public – that in itself would be scandalous – but to publicly declare a mistress – that was beyond anything". She rapidly spun run, dragging Fanny along – she knew what she had to do. This news was to exciting not to share immediately with dear Dolly. In a matter of minutes the city would be set a fire by the scandalous rumour of the return of Rhett Butler and not unaccompanied.

Oblivious to the drama, that were playing out in the shades Rhett finally broke the kiss. Not that any of them would have cared. Probably just have had a good laugh at yet another scandal being added to their track record, and played along with the charade for a day or two, until an opportune moment to reveal the ladies identity would have risen.

He looked deeply into her sparkling green eyes. Her cheeks flushed and her lips cherry red and slightly swollen from their recent display of affection.

"I love you my dear tempestuous Scarlett, and never let me convince you otherwise"

She blinked, trying to hide the tear that had unwillingly snuck into her eye. And then something else flickered in her eyes – something that she quickly made disappear – but yet he had seen it.

"I love you too Rhett, love you so much that it scares me – never lever me again or I will kill you"

He pushed at arms length a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You were considering roasting me for a minute there, weren't you?"

"Well…." She paused

"Oh what a cad you are to discover that – to tell the truth, yes I was – you would have deserved it you know" she swatted his arm playfully and batted her lashes flirtingly.

"But then I thought why bother when I had already let you ravish me"

They both laughed happily before finding each others lips again. They knew that later there would be time for further words, for explanations, and probably fighting. Right now however they just wanted to enjoy the love that they finally had allowed themselves to share.

Fin.

Well that was my ficathon contribution; it has been a pleasure to write.

My assignment was given by CaptScarlett and the following guidelines were given:

Three things I want in my fic:

1 A salacious piece of gossip doing the rounds in Atlanta  
2 The number 1037  
3 a reconciliation

Three things I don't want:  
1 Angst/misery  
2 anyone with red hair  
3 Rhett (should he appear) may not do anything that can be described as  
'sardonic'. I hate that word.

And Oh - i forgot - must be set after the ending of GWTW


End file.
